


Can You See The Real Me?

by jessicathebestica



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Detective Grantaire, F/M, Film Noir AU, Gen, I don't know what possessed me to write this, M/M, Murder Mystery, One Shot, crossdressing Enjolras, oh and since it's a film noir you can guess that it takes place in the 40s, the idea started small then grew, then I had to condense it into a one shot because I just don't have the time for a full-on fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 18:17:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessicathebestica/pseuds/jessicathebestica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Manhattan 1942: A string of gruesome murders swept the city like a hurricane.  No one was safe.  Detectives were on the case round the clock, but they weren't getting anywhere nearer to finding out the identity or motive of this deranged serial killer.  The only caveat they received in all of this confusion was that Manhattan's celebrity jazz singer, Betty Vale, was the killer's intended target--all the victims wore blonde wigs that matched her signature tresses.</p><p>The question on everybody's mind: What did this psychopath want with Ms. Vale?</p><p>An overworked detective by the name of Grantaire was the first to find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can You See The Real Me?

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a teenie-tiny thing I wrote since it'll be another week until the next chapter for Give Me a Place is perfected. It's at a pivotal point in the storyline and I want to make sure I get it just right. So, here's this one shot instead! Enjoly! ; )

This case would be the death of him—or worse, someone he cared about.  Either way he looked at it, someone else was bound to wind up dead and soon.  Finally accepting this horrid twist of fate, there was one last thing that needed to be done before time ran out.

Grantaire was in a full-on sprint now, flashing his badge at the security guard at the entrance of the posh Upper Eastside apartment complex.  The last time he showed his face here, Betty threw a crystal wine glass at the wall (aiming for his head) because she didn’t like what he had to say.  Betty Vale was a real firecracker; someone you wouldn’t take home to ma but who haunted your every waking thought.  She was the most striking, in-demand jazz singer this side of Manhattan and it was hard for Grantaire to even believe she would give him the time of day, let alone invite him into her apartment.

Granted, it was in his job description to look after her.  Police Chief Javert placed a special detail on Ms. Vale the moment he connected all the murders and labeled her a primary target.  The victims were all discovered wearing long, blonde wigs after all, and it was only a matter of time before the killer went after the starlet herself.  

No one on the force knew why The Bloody Bombshell Killer had a dark obsession with Ms. Vale.  Nor did they know why he chose each of his previous victims, as they all differed in age, weight, gender, and height.  Nothing added up.  None of it made sense.  They weren’t any closer in discovering the identity of this monster and Javert’s patience was thin as it was.

But there was something Grantaire knew that the other officers did not—which was why he currently found himself knocking on Betty Vale’s apartment door, doing his damndest to control his labored breathing before she answered.

“What do you want, R?” she asked mirthlessly the moment her face came into view.  That exquisite face—blue eyes, long lashes, stark cheekbones—Grantaire had this face imprinted in his brain since day one.  He could never escape it. 

He shuddered as he exhaled.  “Good evening, Ms. Vale.  Some information has come to light and I thought you should know about it.”

Betty leaned against the door, one of her delicate hands poised on her hip.  “I think I made it pretty clear last time that I no longer want any part of these gruesome dealings.  Your men can tail me all they want, but that doesn’t mean I have to subject myself to your interrogations.  I haven’t the foggiest idea who wants to kill me, okay?  Your efforts are wasted here.”  The red silk robe she wore matched her cherry-colored lips and Grantaire’s hands ached to touch her, every single part of her. 

“Does that mean you won’t let me in?” he asked with a quirk of his angled brow.

With a heavy sigh and a fateful glance heavenward, Betty stepped back so that Grantaire had room to slip in before she gave their conversation the privacy it deserved by closing the door.  “So, who are you going to accuse today, R?  My make-up artist, Cosette?  Or perhaps her father, Valjean?  I’m sure the club owner that I work for has every motive to kill me, apart from the fact that I’m the reason he takes in over 50% of his earnings.”

“Is this all a joke to you?” Grantaire asked sternly.  “Are you not the least bit affected by the fact that six people have died because of a psychopath’s obsession with you?”

“Of course, I’m affected!  I lie awake every night wondering if I’ll live to see the next day!  I’ve become so paranoid, YOU’VE made me so paranoid, that I no longer trust anyone enough to be alone with them.”

Grantaire gazed at the beauty before him, wondering if there was another meaning to her words.  “You’re alone with me.”

Betty walked over to the small bar set up in her living room and began fixing herself a drink.  She liked her gin; it was a wonder she had stock of anything else because gin was the only poison she let stain her plump lips.  “Is that your clever little way of asking me if I trust you, detective?  That’s a tough question to answer considering I’m never really alone, am I?  I saw that squad car parked outside my building when I came home this evening.”

“It’s for your own protection,” he said through gritted teeth.  It was a rehearsed reply, something he told every endangered citizen under police detail.  What he failed to mention was that his motives for protecting her became personal several weeks ago.  He couldn’t help it.  He was hooked.

“Well, if you’re here to provide me with more bad news, as the grim look on your face seems to indicate, perhaps a good, stiff cocktail might settle your nerves enough to tell me.  You’re a brandy man, correct?”

He was, and the fact that she remembered this minor detail sent a fluttering of nerves through his stomach.  He wished he could drop this pretense once and for all.  He wished he could come clean with his discovery in hopes that she would run into his arms and finally realize that he was someone she could trust—that she could trust him with ALL of her secrets.

Before he knew it, wishing became action.

“Betty, I came here tonight to speak to you about Enjolras.”

“Enjolras?” she said disconcertedly, the glass tumbler she held clinging hard against the linoleum counter.  Enjolras was her booking agent and her brother.  He was rarely around, but a big part of the starlet’s life nonetheless.  “Why do you want to talk about Enjolras?  You don’t think he…R, let me put the record straight for you right here and right now that Enjolras is not—”

“He’s not a suspect,” Grantaire hastily interrupted.  “I can say with 100% certainty that he is not out to kill you.  I do believe, however, that Enjolras’ involvement in your life is crucial in finally discovering the motive behind the Bloody Bombshell Killings.”

The blonde looked scared and took this moment to quell her fears by downing the remnants of her cup.  Grantaire continued.  “Now, I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out what these victims have in common.  I did thorough background checks on all of them and the conclusion I finally came to was: nothing.  All six victims have absolutely nothing connecting them—apart from the same blonde wig placed on their blood-splattered corpses.”

Betty closed her eyes and slammed her fist against the counter.  “Please stop doing this, detective.  I don’t want to hear another word.”

Grantaire swiftly moved so that he was at her side again, gripping her shoulders and willing her to look at him.  “Don’t you see, Betty?  That’s the connection!  The wig is a disguise hiding their true identities, just as it hides yours!  Whoever the killer is discovered your secret and now they’re just toying with you!”

“No!” The blonde fought herself free from the dark-haired man’s grasp.  She distanced herself from him, standing on feeble legs as her last defenses started to break.  “You know nothing about me!  Stop pretending that you do and just leave me alone!”

Grantaire longed to be near her, wanted to console the blonde and put a stop to the tears that slowly streamed down her face.  But she would not let him in.  Not yet.  He had more explaining to do.  “When I first met, Enjolras—”  Grantaire closed his eyes and smiled at the memory.  “It was as if my whole body came alive.  He was the most beautiful man I have ever seen and I didn’t think it was possible to feel so strongly about someone without even speaking two words to them.  On the outside he was perfect, but underneath he was a blank book.  It was all business with him.  In every conversation we had, Enjolras showed little to no emotion and I wondered how a person could go on living as a mere shell of a man—completely hollow on the inside.

“But I knew there was something there,” Grantaire continued, inching closer and closer to Betty as she listened to his speech with bated breath.  “And it was almost a relief to discover that Enjolras wasn’t a shell, but a mask.  He hid a secret, one he thought no one would understand or accept.  I thought I fell in love with his sister, you see.  The moment I heard the infamous Betty Vale sing up on that stage, I forgot all about Enjolras.  The resemblance was unmistakable, but not enough to question.”

Grantaire touched her cheek with the back of his hand and he reveled in the fact that it caused her to involuntarily shiver.  “I was a man possessed when I watched you sing and it was apparent to everyone in the club that you were born to be on that stage.  How strange that brother and sister could be so alike yet so completely different.  In looks, you were the same, but whereas Enjolras had eyes that were cold and lifeless, yours were like a vibrant sunrise, giving life to everything around you.  I only hope that they could one day be one and the same.”

Betty’s eyes prickled with fresh tears.  “What are you trying to say, Grantaire?  Tell me…just tell me what you want from me.”

Throwing caution to the wind, the dark, brooding detective held both sides of Betty’s face in his palms and pressed their foreheads together.  “I’m saying that I want both of you, the real you.  I want the marble statue, Enjolras, and the musical temptress, Betty, all in one, because I know without a doubt that no one can affect my heart the way yours does.”

“How can I be what you want?” the blonde asked, her voice breaking as the truth came tumbling out of her.  “I am an abomination.  You’ve nearly said as much if your theory about this killer is true.  They know the real me and have taken to driving me mad before eventually doing me in as well.”

“I won’t let that happen to you.  I will protect you and your secret with my life, Betty…Enjolras.  I promise.”

The starlet then did something she never thought she would do.  With slow movements and unsteady hands, Enjolras reached up and removed several pins until the platinum blonde wig atop his head fell into a heap on the floor.  “I don’t need promises, but I do need you.”

This unexpected proclamation made Grantaire’s heart nearly burst out of his chest.  He caressed the angelic man’s neck before pulling him into a searing, breathtaking kiss.  Enjolras was like putty in Grantaire’s hands, both men melting into the loving embrace that overtook every one of their senses.  The kisses were needy and mouths were pliant and Grantaire’s hands began exploring undiscovered territories that made him shudder with desire.

All too quickly, Enjolras pulled away and looked at Grantaire questioningly—lipstick smeared all over his delicate mouth.  “What do we do now, R?  Where do we go from here?”

Grantaire grinned in a way that made Enjolras swoon, that had always made Betty Vale swoon.  They had started something and there was no turning back now.  “Baby, it doesn’t matter where we go.  All that matters is that we’re together, and that’s how it’ll always be.”  Grantaire’s vow was sealed with a kiss and a promise of things to come; a future without death or secrets and an overwhelming sense of being alive.

  


End file.
